


Yellow

by skeletonwrites



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M, tangled
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 15:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17748263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletonwrites/pseuds/skeletonwrites
Summary: Locked in a tower away from all other life, Feyre Archeron has spent the last five years living in a cloud, always wondering what life had been like before she’d lost her memory. Now, with a chance to escape her tower and see the world for what it truly is, to see the Stars up close, a whole other truth comes spilling out.





	Yellow

The life she had before did not exist anymore. Eighteen solid years of her life were completely gone from her memory. If you asked her what she was doing on this day six years ago, she would smile to be polite, shake her head, and explain that she simply didn’t remember. It was as though her brain never quite recovered from the trauma of her death on her eighteenth birthday. It seemed that her mind, even, was split perfectly in two: before the attack and after, with the before half being completely and utterly blank.

Everything after sometimes felt like a dream. She lived in the highest point of a tower in the middle of the most beautiful clearing that seemed to have been made by a god and dropped into the center of a mountain. A massive waterfall fell over a mountain peak, gathering into a pool at the base. The water itself was the purest, clearest blue Feyre had ever seen. So pure and clear that she found it difficult to capture it with paint colors, to capture it’s true essence. The grass in the clearing was as green as that water was blue, bright and vibrant until the winter months, as it were now. Instead of grass and rushing waters, the waterfall was frozen solid, the pool along with it. The grass was covered in a layer of thick snow, and the trees had shed their usual jewel colored leaves leaving the branches bare as a new babe.   
Usually, the outside of the stone tower were covered and wrapped in ivy, but for now, it was all withered to barely-there brown leaves that crunched when she crushed them in her hands.

The interior of the tower was cozy. Her personal bedroom was up a spiral staircase and inhabited the crown of the tower. One window let in natural lighting during the day, and candles surrounded the room so she could have enough light by the night to paint. She loved her tower bedroom. She loved the expansive night sky that she had painted all across the ceiling and walls. It felt like being in her own personal galaxy that had been created just for her by the Mother herself. She even had glowing paints, so that when it was dark outside, it truly looked like she lay under the cover of bare tree branches with nothing but open skies beyond.

Painting was everything to Feyre. She loved the way the colors seemed to flow out of her, the way she could look at something and immediately imagine the painting to accompany it, complete with it’s title. She had painted and repainted all available surfaces over the last five years, and her fiancé had never once tried to keep her from doing so. He loved her painting, because it meant she was alive and breathing, if nothing else. Feyre often wondered if she had loved to paint before the attack, if her old home looked the way her tower did. She wondered even more frequently if it was the night sky that she had loved to paint the most then, too.

Her golden brown hair was twisted into a knot at the crown of her head, two paint brushes holding her thick hair in place. They had been wet with blue and black paint when she’d used them to pull her hair back, the tips of the brushes speckling her hair in the process. She huffed, dropping the burnt cupcakes on the stove with a clatter, a frown encroaching her features.

“Feyre?” Tamlin called from down below. She bit her lip, still frowning at her baking disaster as she walked to the bay window in the main room of the tower, the only point of entry, and swung the windows open, poking her head out to greet him. His golden hair was invisible under a warm winters hat, his frame bundled in a coat with gloves protecting his fingers. “The rope,” he called, tilting his head back to look up at where she stood fifty feet above.

Some days, she didn’t want to let him back in. More and more lately their relationship had felt more like a mental prison, the tower the cell she was sentenced to life. He used to let her go out into the meadow, but around her birthday every year he got more tense, and she’d not been properly outside since her birthday two years ago. Ever since then, things had begun to be tense between them, their only form of communication being sex. They seemed to get tripped up with everything else. She didn’t particularly want to let him back up today, but she tossed the rope out the window anyway, leaving him to climb up on his own.   
The first handful of years had been happy, she thought. Happy enough that she was content living with her love in the most beautiful place she could imagine. He had been there to distract her with his mouth on the hard days those first few months of being brought back to life. He didn’t have any surviving family and nor, he told her, did she. It was just the two of them, neither of them ever having visitors to the tower. It hadn’t seemed strange to her until year two, when she could hear people laughing in the distance. That was around the time that he had begun to get more strict about letting her outside. The times she had been permitted out, he’d checked the surrounding area for anyone that could be a potential threat. Laughter, she remembered thinking, didn’t seem like something to be scared of, but to Tamlin, any outsiders were enough to set him on edge.

“They will hunt you,” he told her, a broad hand smoothing down her hair when she asked why she couldn’t go with him to the village. Hunt her. As if she were an animal. But he knew best, she didn’t remember what the world was like, and he was the one of them that remembered what the outside world was like. The only memories she held of her life before were those of the accident, and they mostly only surfaced in the form of nightmares that she sweat out alone with her head in the toilet.

Hunt her, they might, for she held the power of all kings, he’d told her. Feyre wasn’t entirely sure if it was true, seeing as she didn’t know a thing about the outside world, but she did hold power. Power that not even Tamlin with all his shape shifting ability could muster. Half a thought and she was in Tamlin’s mind, another thought and it was snowing in the middle of summer, icicles dripping from the roof. A snap of her fingers and flame erupted from her fingertips, a snap and she was a burst of light — her skin glowing from the inside out. A flick of her wrist and she was enveloped in darkness. Perhaps they would hunt her. Or maybe…no. Tamlin wouldn’t lie.

He stumbled in through the window, hoisting the rope up and inside with him, pulling the glass shut and locking all five locks. She watched from an oversized chair across the room as he shrugged of his winter garb, hanging up his coat and hat on the coat rack by the window. He held a basket full of fresh bread, milk, and eggs. The smell of the rich bread wafted over to her and her stomach growled. Tamlin took note of the burnt cupcakes on the stove and shot her a small grin.

“Still no luck with baking?”

“Not even the slightest,” she confirmed, plucking a book from the shelf and opening to place that her bookmark jut out from the pages. “That smells fantastic.”

“I thought I’d make your favorite soup for dinner,” he told her. “I know how much you like to dip bread into it.” Feyre merely nodded, eyes skimming over the pages of her book blankly. Tamlin moved to the kitchen area, taking more supplies from the basket that she hadn’t been able to see before. The main room was large and round, with a living area and a kitchen area. A spiral staircase on the other side of the room led to his private chambers, though they typically spent most nights sleeping in her room. In her books, the couples only had one room once they lived together. She wasn’t sure which scenario was appropriate for she and Tamlin, as he insisted it was important she keep her own room, and he his. They’d seldom slept apart, she didn’t see the need for them to each have a room, and in all five years of living in this tower, she’d never even stepped a foot into his. Her gray eyes drifted from her stairs over to his and she let out a quiet sigh. He brought his eyes up to meet hers as he chopping green onions, giving her an inquisitive look.

Something in the air gave her a spark of bravery, and she rose on to her knees slightly, tucking her feet under her body. Her birthday was next week, and she knew what she so desperately wanted. He knew what she wanted most in the world and he turned her down last year, but maybe…just maybe this year he would let her.   
“My birthday is in two weeks,” she said, almost too softly. Tamlin grinned.

“Your twenty third birthday.” Feyre nodded, eyes drifting up to the ceiling of the tower. She’d painted the ceiling of this main room in stars, too, but they weren’t just stationary stars. They were shooting stars, that happened every year on her birthday. Millions of them, maybe even billions, soared through the sky for hours on her birthday, never failing to leave her breathless, but it happened far enough away that while she found it breathtaking, she’d always wanted to see them fall from the center of it all. She wanted to see that they were truly stars, wanted to see their beauty and light from up close. She’d painted the shooting stars across the ceiling, using her glowing paints, so that she could lie beneath them and pretend she was there last year when he’d told her no for the third time.

“I want to see the stars,” she said to him, her voice barely above a whisper. Anxiously, her thumb caressed the golden band of the large emerald that sat atop her left hand. It had been on her finger when she’d woken up from death, when Tamlin had told her he was her fiancé. They’d been engaged for a handful of months at the time, and at this point in their relationship, five years later, were still unmarried. Feyre had grown over the last year to detest the thing, she didn’t feel like it suited her at all, and she always found herself fumbling with it when she was anxious or upset with Tamlin.

The sound of chopping stopped abruptly, the last one ringing in her ears. Tamlin stilled, his features become all hard lines and frustration. After a beat, he began chopping again and stayed so quiet that Feyre thought she didn’t hear him. She shifted in her seat, swallowing down some courage.

“Did you hear me, Tam? I want to go see the stars.”

“We can see them perfectly fine from here, Feyre.”

“I know, I know we can. I know they’re beautiful from here but imagine what it would be like to see them up close. To see the stars fall from underneath them!” She exclaimed, slipping from her seat and approaching him, albeit slightly timidly. She reached out and touched his muscular arm, letting her fingers trace down one of his veins that stuck out prominently. “It would be so beautiful.”

“You know how dangerous it is out there for you, I –“

“You go out all the time! And you always come back safe. You’ve never come back with even so much as a thorn from a bush.”

“I’ve told you about the dangers you specifically would face. I don’t hold all the powers of the kings in my blood, you do, Feyre. This isn’t about me, it’s about your safety –“

“If you can’t keep me safe out there, what makes you think you can keep me safe locked up in here?” She countered, palms flattening on the wooden counter. Her hands were simmering in heat, and she knew that when she moved her hands from the counter, blackened handprints would be in her wake.

“You aren’t locked up –“

“I’ve been asking for you to take me out for years Tam. Years! Please. Just this once, take me to see the stars and I’ll never ask to see them again.”

“No, Feyre,” he said softly, lifting his fingers to brush her hair behind her ear. Her gray eyes outmatched the swirling gray of the winter storm happening outside, the tears that spilled over her cheeks hot against her cheeks.   
“I’m drowning here, Tamlin. And you might as well be the one holding my head under water,” she said, eyes flickering closed. It was quiet for a moment, completely silent, and then the world around her completely imploded.

-

When she opened her eyes, the room was in complete disarray. Tamlin stood leaning over the counter, breath heaving as he tried to steady himself. A bubble around Feyre was untouched, leaving her untouched, as paints, boiling water, fresh milk and egg yolks ran down an invisible wall around her. She reached out with tentative fingers and was met with a hard, cool wall of wind that she had somehow thrown up to protect herself. Her own chest heaved, terror striking through her body. Tamlin had never exploded, quite literally, like that in their five years together. She swallowed as he pressed his hand against the wall, pulling from his reverie and realizing exactly what had happened.

“Feyre,” he murmured, his voice muted through her wall of wind. She looked at him, tears rapidly falling now as the shock of the situation set in. “Please, Feyre. Please.” He begged, pushing his palm harder until the wall vanished, and he was taking her up in his arms, murmuring apologies over and over as she sat, completely limp, before him on the floor. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…explode like that.” In that moment she found herself completely incapable of words, incapable of doing anything but letting him hold her completely shocked body. He kept going, kept talking and apologizing until she conceded, wrapping her arms around him loosely, allowing him to sob into her neck.

Behind his head, red and brown paints from her kit mixed and ran down the wall, and she could only think that it looked an awful lot like the dry blood that had covered her body when she awoke from being dead.

-

The next morning, Feyre lay naked in her bed, the sheets and blankets wrapped around her to keep out the cold. Her eyes were on Tamlin as he washed up, the muscles in his back flexing and shifting with every movement he made. From here she could make out the faint scratches down his back that her fingernails had left the night before, a few a fresh pink from making love only moments ago. Green eyes caught her’s in the mirror, and she forced a smile to her lips.

“For my birthday,” she started, noting the way that he tensed. He’d apologized all night, worshiping her and begging for her forgiveness with his tongue and lips and teeth in more ways than one. He was already headed into town to buy her more painting supplies, among other things his outburst had destroyed. “The really nice paints from a few years ago?” He looked up from drying his face in a fluffy white towel, tossing it into the dirty clothes hamper as he turned to face her. Tamlin leaned against the sink, bracing his hands on the edge. His blonde hair fell into his face. Tamlin truly was beautiful, she thought. Rugged in a way, with high cheek bones and those green eyes that saw through to her soul.

“The ones I got you from the Summer Kingdom?” He inquired, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Feyre pushed herself up onto her elbows and nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. The golden man was quiet for a moment, then pressed his lips together in a thin line and nodded, leaning over to kiss her mouth softly. “Okay. Will you be okay if I head out today? It’ll take a few days to get there and back.” Feyre paused, making a show of touching her fingertip to his arm, tracing a random shape there, before looking up at him under thick lashes and nodding her head. He said, tucking her hair behind her ear, “I’ll leave soon then.”

-  
Feyre had hardly ever been left alone in the tower for more than one day at a time. Tamlin must have felt extra horrible to leave so early to get the paints she requested, not even making much of a fuss before leaving her at the window as he slid down the rope. He’d waved when he got to the edge of the meadow, just before slipping out of view, and she’d immediately begun to rush around, shoving what she could into a satchel. Feyre was going to see those stars for her birthday if it got her hunted and killed.

She would dress in layers to stay warm as she trudged through the snow, leaving as much room as possible for food. Feyre made quick work of packing up as much jerky as she could, along with dried berries and other snack like foods that would fit in her pack. She filled a bottle with water and tied a string around the neck so she could attach it to her satchel for easy carrying. She had just turned to her closet when she heard rattling at the window, followed by cursing. Feyre froze, hiding the satchel and picking up the closet thing to her, which happened to be a shoe with a chunky wooden heel. It couldn’t be Tamlin, he would have called up for her. Her hands began shaking as she slipped behind the wardrobe just as the window was thrust open, a large body flying inside and hoisting the windows shut again.

“What the he-“ The man began, but Feyre ran up behind him and hit him as hard as she could with the shoe, directly in his temple, and he crumpled to the ground with a soft grunt. She swallowed, kneeling down to brush his iridescent black hair from his face and let out an audible gasp. Lying on the floor at her feet was an exceptionally beautiful male. He looked rugged at present, with a heavy five o’clock shadow covering the lower half of his face, and his hair nearly at his shoulders. Half of it was pulled up into a messy bun atop his head and tied with a piece of leather. Feyre could tell that underneath the beard he had beautifully chiseled bone structure.

The unconscious man made a small noise in the back of his throat, pulling her from her reverie. The rope that Tamlin used to climb in and out of the tower was in a heap near the window. Remembering everything Tam had ever said about what the outside world had to offer, she dragged his body to the stairs and used the rope to tie knots around his hands and ankles, then bound him to the stair railing. Satisfied with her knots after a few sharp tugs, she appraised his body once more, noticing a small satchel that was hanging onto his form. Curious to see what he carried with him, and eager to get any potential weapons out of his grasp, she cut the strap on the satchel and made her way to the counter, dumping the contents onto the wood.

Keeping one eye on the male, she sifted through his belongings, finding nothing that indicated any sort of identity, nor any weapons other than a small knife that could fit in her pocket. She did, however, find a smaller pouch in his satchel, and upon opening it, her mouth dropped open in surprise. For inside the pouch was a stunning sapphire, sitting atop a silver band. It was the most unusual gem she’d ever seen, not that she’d seen very many, but the way the sapphire appeared, as though there were a star carved into the center of the stone itself, had her heart racing. This, perhaps, she could use as leverage. She’d been begging the Mother to get her to see the stars, and maybe, just maybe, this is man and this ring was exactly how she’d get there. 


End file.
